Simple Song
by SingingINth3Rain
Summary: How an angel's simple song began everything. Erik did not believe in angels, but he did believe in her. There had been an angel there that night, and she had sung with a demon.


**A Simple Song**

* * *

Erik sat and waited, fingers stroking the ivory keys of his piano absentmindedly. A note there, a trill here and suddenly there was soft lilting melody. It was no aria to be sure, no soaring lyrical piece, it was a simple song. Christine would have liked it. Pretty and soft...

_And completely useless._

Erik brought his fists down hard on the keys in a horribly dissonant chord.

He could be a patient man, when it suited him, but that moment the time did not suite him in the slightest. He stood, roughly pushing the piano bench away with his sudden movement. Impatiently he started to pace, back and forth, his feet silent on the stone ground. Fists clenched and teeth clenched even tighter, he began an all-together familiar rant in his head.

_I should have never approached her, never have offered her anything. Is this how she treats me?! Me, her teacher, her maestro - the dreaded Opera Ghost!? She shows me the respect I deserve by being late!? Who does she think she is to defy me!? How dare she!_

He sent a fist crashing down onto the piano's wooden cover. The resounding crack of the polished wood under his hand reverberated through the dark cavern.

_She is not worth the effort. I should let her voice grow rusty with disuse, never to soar to the great operatic heights that I had planned for her... I should have ignored her voice all those years ago when she began singing in the chapel as a child. _

Erik's tense form stilled as memories washed over him. _No, my dear Christine._ He thought, instantly repentant. _ I could never have ignored you._

* * *

That night Erik had been prowling about the theatre, checking his traps and ensuring that every possible entrance to his dark lair was secure and hidden when he had heard her simple song. Her voice had been childish, as one would expect of a child of her tender years. Undisciplined and immature as it was, it had somehow made him stop and listen.

Her gentle quiet voice drew him to the chapel, a place where he had usually tried to avoid – a man previously known as the Devil's child had no right to be in such a sacred place – but still he went there, drawn by the angel child's voice.

He didn't know what had drawn him to that cold, candlelit room. Maybe it was because the song was not in the expected French or Italian, but in Swedish. The quality of her voice itself was definitely not what had drawn him, he remembered wincing when she had sung an entire line completely flat.

_No, it had definitely not been that. _Erik shook his head, a gentle half-smile nearly forming itself on his misshapen lips.

Her voice had been hopeful. It was the painful hopefulness that drew his notice.

_Natten går stor och stum_ (Night walks grand, yet silent,)  
_nu hörs dess vingar_ (Now hear its gentle wings,)  
_  
_He had arrived at the chapel and peered into the interior. What he had seen had almost taken his breath away. An angelic creature knelt upon the cold stone floor, flowing white silk spread around her small body like feathery wings. She wore a crown of shining gold, small perfect ringlets curling down her back. Her pale skin looked almost ethereal in the warm candlelight.

_i alla tysta rum_ (In every room so hushed,)  
_sus som av vingar._ (Whispering like wings.)_  
_

_She is an angel. _He had thought breathlessly and then immediately winced as she hit an entirely wrong note. _Ah, an angel in body not with the perfect voice of one of those celestial beings._ He thought sardonically.

_Se, på vår tröskel star_ (Look, at our threshold stands,)  
_vitklädd med ljus i hår_ (White-clad with light in her hair,)  
_Sankta Lucia, Sankta_ Lucia (Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia!)

_No, but there is buried talent there. _He added, listening intently to her pure soft voice. He felt like the intense need to look away, his eyes had seen too many horrors for him to look upon something so lovely without disgracing it, but he couldn't move his eyes from her small frame.

The beautiful illusion surrounding her crashed into oblivion. She was not an angel anymore than he was, though with a steady look at her peaceful features he knew that she was still closer to heaven than he'd ever be.

Her beautiful white silk wing turned into a simple, if a bit ragged nightdress. Small tears and dark smudges of dirt from the filthy ground showed on the hem of her nightdress. Her shining golden hair seemed duller in the candlelight now – the curls sleep-tussled and disorderly. The smooth ivory skin of her face and arms no longer looked ethereal, but pale to the point of sickness. Fragile cheekbones stretched the porcelain skin of her face and the single candle resting beside her created dark shadows on that luminous countenance.

Erik recognized her then. She had arrived at the opera a few months prior with only a thin dress and a violin case in her small hands. He had not paid any more attention to her then he did the other future ballet rats. She had not been anything special, then.

_But now..._ Something caught in his throat.

He had not gone out of his way to listen to the whispered gossip of the opera house, but being a phantom that prowled all hours of the day and night Erik had overheard some of the quiet tittering and giggles of the ballet rats.

From what he had heard, death followed her with a morbid curiosity. Everyone around her seemed to die with a frighteningly regularity - first her mother when she was but an infant, and then her father only a few months before her arrival at the opera house. Death stalked her, of that he was certain. As one with the same affliction, Erik knew another sufferer instantly, which was why her calm expression baffled him.

There was only one person in the entire world that could've spotted the slight shift in Erik's expression. The miniscule compression of his deformed upper lip with his smooth bottom one, the slight widening of the golden irises in his eyes, and the subtle clenching of his jaw – it was an expression of complete bafflement. Unfortunately, Nadir Khan was not there to witness that extraordinary change. As usual, darkness and the shadows of the past were Erik's only companions.

The cold breath he had been inhaling stuck in his throat.

She was smiling. And singing. Straight at him, to_ him_!

_No, not at me. _Erik roughly corrected himself. _She cannot see me; she only sees the stone statue before her. She cannot see the monster because the angel is in the way._

Her expression was alive – eyes shining, rosy lips open in song – she looked peaceful, happy even. Nothing like a grieving child bereft of both parents had any right in looking.

She was supposed to look sad and miserable, not angelic in her painful simplicity.

In that moment he cursed her. How dare she be so happy and carefree when he was suffering a lifetime of torment and pain. He cursed her song and he cursed her unexplainable joy. But as her simple song faded to the inevitable conclusion, he cursed the silence.

Erik looked away from the kneeling angel. Beauty had no place with evil.

With slow deliberate steps he started to wander back down to his dark domain.

Once again, a sound stopped him.

He turned swiftly on his heel, had his ears deceived him? The sound came louder then, mournful and melancholy.

_No_, he thought. His perfect hearing had not deceived him. The ears that were attuned to hear the slightest of sounds – imperfections in music, a simple footstep or quiet voice, had heard the small girl's voice again. But this time it was not lifted in song but in a heartrending sob of misery.

Erik stilled his tense frame and closed his golden eyes, listening to the soft whimpers and sobs of the angel. And then in that moment he felt a strange kinship with the angelic creature. Darkness and death had stalked him as well as her. He a demon forced from the blackest pits of hell, and her an angel fallen from the loving hands of her creator.

He told himself not to go back, and he cursed himself when he did.

Through the stone wall he gazed once again at angel. Tears had stained her porcelain cheeks and dripped down to the cold stone beneath. Each of the drips made the sound of a gunshot to Erik's oversensitive ears.

She had been saying something, or rather mumbling something. Only when he drew as close as he dared did he hear her soft words.

"Oh, Papa. Why did you leave me, Papa?"

Most of her words had not been that coherent but all of them revolved around a common theme – her dead father. Sniffling and wet, the girl wept for the dead.

To this day Erik couldn't say what prompted him sing. Was it to impress her with his voice? Certainly not. To comfort her in her grief? Even more absurd. But still, he had sung to her.

So intent was she upon on her tears and sorrow that she almost missed the clear pure voice that echoed from the angel statue before her.

_Mörkret ska flykta snart (_Darkness shall take flight soon),_  
ur jordens dalar(_From earth's valleys.)

A gasp caught in her throat and Erik saw her hands clasp each other in wonderment. Eyes bright with fresh tears, the girl looked around the chapel wildly, trying to catch a glimpse of the singer.

_så hon ett underbart (_So she speaks)_  
ord till oss talar.(_ Wonderful words to us)

Erik let his voice soar in gentle lifts and crescendos. Enraptured by his voice, the girl closed her eyes and her rosebud lips opened slightly. Erik closed his own eyes and nearly started in shock when a quiet untrained voice started to sing with him.

_Dagen ska åter ny (_A new day will rise again)_  
stiga ur rosig sky (_From the rosy sky…)_  
Sankta Lucia, Sankta Lucia.(_Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia!)

The last note of their shared song faded softly into the darkness.

Once again, Erik did not know what prompted him to speak to the girl.

"My dear angel, what is your name?" He asked softly.

The girl waited so long to respond that Erik was afraid that she had not heard them.

_Ah, it is probably for the better, no? One must keep one's famed reputation as an opera ghost. _

He turned, ready to escape back into his dark lair.

"Christine." Came the quiet reply.

Erik's heart stopped.

"My name is Christine." She repeated.

"_Christine_." He said to himself, breathing the name softly. _A beautiful name for a beautiful angel._

"Who are you monsieur? Why do you hide from me?"

He sighed deeply and lifted his head to the ceiling, golden eyes staring at every deformity and crack in the beams above him.

"I hide because I must."

The girl, Christine had been silent for a second and then spoke, "I don't think that someone with a voice so beautiful a voice should be hidden in the dark shadows all alone."

Erik lowered his gaze back to the interior of the chapel. Christine now stood, the dirty hem of her nightdress barely skimming the ground. She turned this way and that, trying to find where the voice was coming from.

"Neither do I." He replied softly.

There had been an angel there that night, and she had sung with a demon.

.

.

* * *

Something quick I jotted down today while procrastinating from my other writing project. Hoped you liked it! Feel free to drop me a review :)

Santa Lucia (or Sankta Lucia)

Night walks with a heavy step  
Round yard and hearth,  
As the sun departs from earth,  
Shadows are brooding.  
There in our dark house,  
Walking with lit candles,  
Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia!

Night walks grand, yet silent,  
Now hear its gentle wings,  
In every room so hushed,  
Whispering like wings.  
Look, at our threshold stands,  
White-clad with light in her hair,  
Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia!

Darkness shall take flight soon,  
From earth's valleys.  
So she speaks  
Wonderful words to us:  
A new day will rise again  
From the rosy sky…  
Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia!


End file.
